


After-effects

by Gwendelan



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 15:09:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2274408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwendelan/pseuds/Gwendelan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're between jobs and taking turns testing Yusuf's new compounds.<br/>Today is Arthur's turn.</p><p>It doesn't go exactly as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After-effects

They were between jobs and taking turns testing Yusuf's new compounds. The chemist was constantly coming up with new formulas, allowing the dreamworkers to wake up at the slightest stimulation or on the contrary to sleep through a raging storm with the dream kept undisturbed, and this far they were all immensely satisfied with the results – more different drugs meant more job opportunities they could accept, and, therefore, more money to make.

Today was Arthur's turn. The point man had been asleep for five minutes at least, despite Eames and Cobb's numerous attempts at rousing him. Even a full body shake and a glass of ice-cold water down his shirt had not succeeded into waking him up. In fact, nothing at all had managed to raise even the slightest reaction from the man.

"How much time left?" Dom asked, crossing his arms upon his chest and studying warily his friend's sleeping form.

"Four minutes."

"What haven't we tried yet?" Eames wondered, looking around them in search of ideas.

"Well, you could kiss him, but I'm not sure about the result. Besides, if it actually works, he's gonna skin you alive." Their boss said, chuckling at the forger's pinched-lip, barely conceiled revulsion.

Thirty seconds passed, before the chemist's voice broke the silence.

"He... looks like he's in pain." He said softly, frowning.

The sentence resounded in the hall like a threat hovering over their heads, and after a moment of astounded silence, Cobb quickly knelt next to his friend and gently grabbed his wrist, noticing the clammy skin and slight tremor running along his fingers.

"His palms are sweaty. And his eyes are moving too slow for him to be REM-sleeping. I think he's having a nightmare."

"And we can't wake him up. That's awesome!" Eames said with a fake glee. "This drug is brilliant, Yusuf. A great way to torture someone without actually hurting them."

The stern look he received from the extractor silenced him immediately, but even Dom knew that his lame attempt at humor was hiding a growing concern.

"His pulse is quickening." Yusuf noted, glancing at the monitor. "And his blood pressure is going through the roof. Something's wrong."

He quickly stopped the IV drip and removed the catheter from Arthur's arm, carefully lifting one of his eyelids to check for pupil responsitivity.

"No abnormal dilation or contraction." He sighed in relief. "Now that the IV is off, he should be waking up soon..."

The three men stood before the point man's unconscious form, anxiously waiting for him to return to the land of the living. Yusuf's eyes kept darting to the monitor, silently checking that their coworker's condition wasn't worsening, but Arthur's heart was slowly returning to its normal rate. Seconds later, the man jerked awake with a gasp, eyes wide open and hands clenched on the armrests, gaze roaming across the room to get his bearings. Cobb made to squeeze his shoulder comfortingly, ready to ask if the younger was all right, but to everyone's surprise Arthur dodged out of his grasp, his brief wince carefully schooled back into a blank mask.

"Sorry." He said, voice a little shaky. "Need the washroom. This new drug is awfully diuretic."

And then he was up and taking great strides across the concrete floor, disappearing out the door before anyone could figure out what the _hell_ had happened.

"Should we follow him, do you figure?" Eames asked, perplexed. "Check if everything's all right?"

The extractor swallowed, then shook his head.

"I'm not going after him. He just avoided me, never did that before. He probably needs a little space right now."

Yusuf raised his head from where he was frantically scribbling something down on paper.

"I'd still keep an eye on him." He intervened. "He already experienced some kind of adverse effect, and it'll be a few hours before the compound is entirely out of his system. There's no garantee it won't happen again."

Cobb started shifting from foot to foot, considering the chemist's statement with uncertainty, obviously reluctant to risk barging in in Arthur's privacy and exposing himself to one of his moods. Eames had no such qualms; exasperated with his boss's indecision, he sighed, rolled his eyes skywards, and trugded towards the door.

"I'll go. At worst I'll get kicked out, wouldn't be the first time."

"Eames..."

"Don't worry, I'll try not to be a bother!" He shouted from the corridor.

Concern and playfulness warring in his head, the forger quietly climbed the stairs to their makeshift rooms, walking past Arthur's wide open door until he reached their shared bathroom – an industrial shower stall with a small cubicle they only used in case of emergency, given the state of the premises. He knocked, then again, not at all rebuffed by the absence of response.

"Arthur, you in there?"

Silence.

"Love, at least let me know you're alive and breathing, otherwise I'll just have to break the door down."

He heard the toilet flush, then footsteps and the sound of a key turning in the lock, but the door didn't open. He tried the knob, and the pannel gave way to reveal the point man thoroughly washing his hands in the small sink, looking as unruffled as ever, merely annoyed at having been interrupted.

"I'm all right, Eames. Just had to piss like a racehorse, like I said."

The forger took a second to watch him over from head to toe, and apart from the large water stain on his chest, a few creases in the man's suit and a stray strand of hair which would easily be explained away by the drug-induced sleep, couldn't find any evidence that something was amiss.

"Diuretic, huh? Okay then, if you're sure." He said after a moment, fighting down the doubt that had settled in his gut. "I'll leave you to your compulsive cleanliness and go see if Cobb needs anything else done today."

"You do that." The younger answered, not raising to the bait. "I'll be right back."

Still troubled but unable to put a finger on the reason of his unease, Eames trudged back down to where the chemist and the extractor were busily chatting, receiving a twin set of questionning stares when he entered the room.

"He's okay." He reassured, forcing a smile. "Made it to the loo just in time before wetting his pants, nothing more."

Yusuf sighed with barely veiled relief while Cobb just nodded tightly, seemingly convinced. Arthur reappeared barely a minute after that, his gait as professionnal and energetic as ever, and the incident was all but forgotten.

******

Hours later, Eames was stumbling back into the warehouse, comfortably numbed by a reasonable amount of scotch. Arthur had declined the invitation to share a few drinks at a local bar but Yusuf and Cobb had joined him for a while before calling in an early night in the sake of proper, non-drug-induced sleep, and half an hour later the forger had given up on trying to chat up a pretty red-head with wide, clever eyes who had been making him laugh for the past half-hour but obviously wasn't interested any further.

He wasn't drunk, but sufficiently buzzed to consider pranking Arthur at this late hour, and walked past his own room to sneak up an ear against the point man's door, checking if the man was indeed sleeping. There were absolutely no noises coming from inside and the forger silently pushed the pannel open, letting his gaze roam across the neatly piled clothes and unmade bed.

Arthur wasn't in there. Suprised, and a little worried despite himself, he opened the door further to take in the whole room, stepped back out when it became clear the point man wasn't anywhere in sight, and strode down the corridor to check the bathroom.

There was light seeping under the door, and soft, unrecognizable sounds, and Eames frowned. Either Arthur was having a wank – which would have made for serious teasing material – or he was desperately trying not to cry.

The uneasy feeling in his stomach was back full force, and he knocked softly, twice, expecting to be either yelled out or ignored.

"Arthur, love? Whatever it is you're doing, are you done soon? I have to take a piss."

A non-committal grunt answered him, which the forger obviously deemed unsatisfactory, for the next second he was pulling out a small kit from his pocket and skillfully picking the lock. He pushed the pannel aside, and gasped at the scene that unfolded before his eyes.

Arthur was sitting on the dirty tiles in the far corner of the large shower stall, curled up on himself, dressed in an old T-shirt and sweatpants and wrapped in a comforter, hair a tousled mess and face hidden in his arms. Had Eames not been so instantly puzzled and more than a little concerned, he might have found the sight endearing.

"Arthur?" He called, softly, hesitantly taking a step towards him. "What is it?"

The point man was still refusing to answer or even raise his head to acknowledge his presence, stubborn as ever, and Eames stepped closer, noticing only now the slight shiver that ran through the slender body. Slowly, so as not to scare him, he came to a halt just before him, crouched down so he was level with him.

"Darling, talk to me. Cobb thought maybe you were having a nightmare earlier, is that what shook you so bad?"

Considering their usual banter and childish fights, his tone was suprisingly gentle, and maybe this was the reason that Arthur finally uncovered his face to meet his stare. The point man's eyes were haunted, filled with unshed tears, his cheeks dotted pink with humiliation, but the forger made no comment, simply raising a hand to push back some of Arthur's brown locks.

"Christ, love. What's wrong? Come on, talk to me, whatever it is."

The point man simply shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut a brief moment before opening them again to meet his stare.

"It's not..." Arthur croaked, before swallowing harshly in an attempt to find his voice. "I'm okay." He said, hoping he didn't sound as weak as he felt.

Eames didn't buy it.

"If you say so." He answered skeptically. "Anything I can do?"

The point man shook his head again, immediately burying his face back into his arms to try and hide the lone tear that had escaped, and Eames felt his heart squeeze in his chest. He had never seen the younger so distressed before, so openly vulnerable. He remained still and silent for a while, uncertain about how to comfort his coworker without crossing any boundary, but the young man's first badly concealed hitch of breath was his undoing.

"Jesus, Arthur, come here." He said, dropping to the ground next to him and wrapping him in a strong embrace.

Arthur resisted for the sake of it, barely a moment before he gave in, face pressing against the forger's shoulder and hands sliding around his waist, returning the hug with frightening desperation, body wracked with sobs as he allowed himself to break down for the first time in years. Eames was stunned still for a second, completely at a loss, but quickly gathered him close against his chest, thick fingers sifting through soft brown hair, holding on tight as he wondered what kind of horrible dream could have wreaked havoc in the point man's usually stoic exterior.

"Hey, it's okay, I'm here now. Let it out, darling, let it all out, you'll feel better, come on."

Arthur whimpered and clutched at the forger even harder, sniffling and hiccuping against his neck, humid puffs of air leaving hot wet trails on his ruffled shirt, but Eames couldn't care less, too puzzled and too concerned about his friend to worry about anything else. He kept on whispering a littany of soothing nothings in his ear, trailing his hands up and down his back and head, pulling him in until he was sitting sideways in his lap, and the young man went willingly, his whole body nestling against Eames like he was seeking shelter.

"Easy, love, you're gonna be fine... This is not a dream, this is reality, you're safe here. I'll keep you safe, Arthur, it's okay."

It was a long time before the sobs subsided, and a few minutes again before the last of the tears dried, but neither man moved, one of them afraid to break the fragile peace that had settled upon them, the other too exhausted to leave the security and comfort of the forger's embrace. The room fell silent, barely disturbed by a few remaining hitches in Arthur's breaths, mostly drowned in the soft purr of the ventilation above their heads.

"If you talk to anyone about this, I'm gonna kill you." The point man finally muttered against his shoulder. It took the older man a few seconds before the words hit home, and he laughed.

"Don't worry, pet, I'm not a complete madman. You're downright scary when you want to be."

He couldn't see Arthur's face, but felt the younger smile against his skin, and something that had been knotted tight in his chest loosened. He smiled, teasingly tickled the man's ribs.

"Come on, up you go. My buttocks are starting to cramp and you can't be comfortable either."

"I'm perfectly fine like this." The point man replied, arms tightening around the forger's waist.

The tone had been playful, but something in the gesture told Eames that maybe his coworker needed a little more time, so he simply grabbed the smaller man under his knees along with the blanket still hanging off his shoulders and lifted him off the floor, grunting a little with the effort but still managing to stand upright, Arthur clinging to his upper body like a giant octopus.

"Eames, what are you doing?" He protested, not budging in the slightest from his spot in Eames's arms.

"Carrying you back to your room. You need some sleep, hell we both do, and the bathroom floor isn't the most appropriate place for that."

Arthur's arms tightened around his neck.

"Not my room." He said briskly, pleadingly.

The forger stopped in his tracks, letting go of his legs until the man was standing on his own, and carefully nudging his face from where it was still pressed against his shoulder so he could catch his gaze. After a few insistent pokes and prods, the younger relented, swallowing harshly.

"Not my room." He repeated shakily, meeting the other's stare. "Please."

Eames watched him attentively, before nodding his assent.

"All right. Not your room. Where do you want to sleep, then?"

"Anywhere, but not alone. Seriously. I can't. Right now I can't. Please, Eames."

And there was desperation back in his features, some of that haunted look making him seem years older than he actually was – not that the forger knew his real age, but still –, and Eames couldn't do it, couldn't leave him to his own devices when he was so obviously hurting. He slung an arm around his shoulders, ruffled his hair with his free hand, and steered him towards his own bedroom.

"All right then, you can sleep with me. But you'll be the one to explain it to the others when you come out of my room in the morning."

"Oh, I'm sure I can come up with something." Arthur said, with some of his old confidence back as he was pushed inside Eames's lair.

"I don't doubt it. Come on, get in the bed, just let me go get changed and hit the head and I'll be joining you. Do you need anything?"

The young man cleared his throat, obviously still embarrassed, and blushed before answering.

"Erm. Some water would be good. And a few tissues, maybe? My face feels repulsive."

The forger laughed softly, playfully dropped a kiss in the point man's tousled hair.

"I'm on it. Be right back."

When he came back a few minutes later, dressed in sweatpants and a ratty T-shirt and carrying a six-pack of bottled water and a box of tissues, Arthur was leaning against the headboard on his side of the bed, buried under several layers of blankets and looking downright _adorable_. Eames paused at the threshold to take in the unexpected sight of the point man's cuteness, before closing the door behind him with his foot and depositing his burden on the nightstand, handing his friend a bottle and a handful of tissues.

"Thanks." Arthur muttered, shyly blowing his nose and cleaning his cheeks while the forger toed off his shoes and climbed in the bed beside him. Before he could utter any form of protest, Eames had wrapped a thewed arm around his shoulders and pulled him in against his side.

"What are you doing?"

"Hugging you." The older man deadpanned.

"I don't need to be cuddled, Eames. I'm not a kid."

"No, you're not." He said, still not letting go.

Arthur wanted to get away, really he did, but the forger was far stronger than him and he didn't have the energy to struggle when he knew he would lose. And maybe the warmth that was radiating from all these muscles and seeping into his flesh was already lulling him into a quiet doze, maybe the hand that kept stroking up and down his back was unexpectedly soothing. Maybe it wasn't so bad after all. Maybe if he managed to slip one of his legs between Eames's thighs, he would be even more comfortable, and – yeah, perfect.

"Eames?" He called softly, voice muffled against his coworker's chest.

"Yes, love?" The other answered, distractedly petting his hair.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"You know. The caring and cuddling and not being an asshole as usual."

The petting and stroking stopped for a while, and Arthur feared he had made a mistake, said the wrong thing, feared Eames would push him away to his room to sleep it off like a real man and stop whining. But none of this happened, just a few seconds of stillness before the movements resumed.

"Because I have a heart, darling." The forger stated simply. "And because you do need it tonight, even though you would never ask for it. I know you, Arthur. You've been on edge for days. You're not usually that fidgety when we're between jobs and not being tailed by ill-meaning hangmen. Which makes me think something's got you vexed, but you won't share it with anyone because you're too proud to lay your problems on someone else's shoulders. Today's test was just the straw that broke the camel's back. I won't pry, but if you need to, I'm here and I'm willing to lend an ear. Okay?"

There was something swelling in Arthur's throat, some kind of emotion he couldn't pinpoint, but it was there, and it made his eyes prickle. Because someone had seen, someone had _watched_ , someone knew him well enough to tell his real smiles from his façade. He curled closer to the forger on instinct, and that emotion became a very welcome warmth in his stomach when Eames squeezed him tighter against his torso as a response.

"Thank you, Eames." He rasped against the older's skin, fighting against his strangled voice. "I just – thank you."

"Shhh, love, it's okay." The forger answered, lips pressed against his temple. "It's okay. We'll talk some more in the morning if you want. Go to sleep now, I'm watching over you."

Arthur nodded shakily against the man's shoulder before pressing his face back in the crook of his neck, closing his eyes and letting the careful strokes on his back and the rythmic rise and fall of his chest lull him into a peaceful slumber.

He hadn't slept so soundly in a very long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!
> 
> First fic ever in this fandom, so I hope it's not too OOC.  
> Please let me know if you spot any mistakes.


End file.
